


Learning to Trust - Garrison

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Angst, Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: After a traumatic experience with the Gestapo,  Craig Garrison senses a shift in the team's structure.  And, we, the audience, start to get a glimpse under one or two of those masks.





	Learning to Trust - Garrison

He was gagging on his own blood and vomit when Actor conned his way into the cell. The tall con man spared only a bored glance at the naked man sprawled on the cold wet concret floor, and proceeded to hand over his orders in an equally bored, but highly superior manner; obviously, whatever those papers read were highly effective because the Major overcame his annoyance with having his Saturday night disrupted so rudely and ordered Garrison to be re-dressed in that stained and torn uniform and dragged out to the car waiting in front of that non-descript building the Gestapo was using as a temporary headquarters. The driver didn't even look around, being too busy sneezing and blowing his nose into a white handkerchief. An abrupt "Hans! Schnell!" got one hand turning the key and the other wheeling the car away.

The Major stood there, now letting a glower cover his features, and his Aide was joining him in that expression. Private Lutherkranz thought it was highly unfair; the Major had had his turn, but just when the Private was getting ready for a bit of fun, promised him by the Major for services rendered, this Colonel had to go and spoil everything. Major Vaunder snapped his head to the left, "bring me my car! No, I don't need a driver; I am not an infant no matter what Headquarters OR my father seems to think! I can manage the six blocks to my apartment quite well without help!" Lutherkranz did as he was told, but had to wonder at the intelligence of that order. Well, in his opinion Vaunder wasn't all that bright, even for a surprisingly young Major; HE didn't see where having a driver, OR having a guard at your side was such an insult. HE wouldn't have been so annoyed at having a General for a father, either, especially a General who managed to shower niceties down on his only son, or cover up all the 'little adventures' that son managed to get involved in. He watched the officer drive away, shrugged his shoulders and went back inside to get a detail together to clean up the mess left in that cell. At least Lutherkranz's position as the Major's Aide let him order that done without having to participate. 

Private Lutherkranz wasn't the only one who'd watched the Major drive away. No, Goniff had watched the krauts dress the disoriented and weakly struggling Garrison, fighting to keep a neutral expression on his face. Somehow, he didn't have as much trouble as he would have thought. {"Something bout being in that cell, those bloody krauts all around, just me and Actor and the Warden, that kept my attention where it needed to be, alright."} There had been no doubt what had transpired in that cell - Garrison's bruised and bloody form had been evidence of a harsh beating. As for the rest, well, Goniff recognized the other evidence as well, even if the young Major hastily tucking himself back in his uniform trousers hadn't been enough of a clue, and he knew he was going to heave his guts out sometime in the not so far future, but even his twitchy stomach had enough sense of self-preservation to postpone that moment.

He watched impassively as the goons load Garrison's limp body into the trunk of the car Chief was driving, Actor taking his regal position in the back seat. Goniff stepped behind the wheel of the staff car parked just to the rear, Casino having slipped out earlier, now staying behind to make a try for those papers, intending to make his way out into the alley two blocks further down, where Goniff and the car were to be waiting. The slight Englishman glanced at his watch, thinking back to that conversation he'd understood, if just barely. He was getting better at the understanding of the gutteral language, if still rather hopeless at speaking it with any ease. He could shed the Cockney if he concentrated, though it had been great fun letting Actor harrange him through that process when he'd had to impersonate Charles Redmond, much more fun than just saying, "no problem, can do that easily enough,", and then proving it. What he seemed to have trouble doing was swapping the overall British accent for a German one.

{"Six blocks, just six blocks."} He spared one more glance at the building, then wheeled the car out and at the first corner tailed after the staff car instead of heading to that back alley. It wasn't long, though, before he was back at the alley, where an agitated Casino emerged from the shadows and entered the car. As they drove off toward the safe house, Casino started letting him have it, about not being where he was supposed to be, what would Casino have done if a roving patrol came through during those minutes.

"Well, why do you think I 'ad to bail??! Came along, started checking plates against a piece of paper they 'ad in their 'and; couldn't 'ave them come over asking me questions, now could I? Wouldn't 'ave a ruddy idea of what they were saying, and couldn't answer even if I did! Took off nice and easy, circled around, and got back as soon as I could. Look, I'm sorry, mate, didn't know what else to do." He was humbly apologetic, and Casino shrugged and while he continued to grumble, agreed there really hadn't been much else. Anyway, Casino had been in a likely position to hide and not be spotted; that staff car was much more likely to catch someone's attention. Goniff was sincerely sorry all that had been necessary, but was glad Casino had been the one mentioning the roving patrol, {"ruddy convenient that was."}

They made it back to the safe house, where Chief was keeping watch while Actor rendered what first aid he could to the now-conscious Garrison. Chief filled them in on the bare facts, his eyes bitter cold. "Actor says he keeps saying he can travel, and you know the Warden. Least this time he's not just saying he's fine; not saying much of anything."

Casino was looking as green as Goniff by now, and watched uneasily as the Englishman made a dash for the backdoor, to finally give his stomach the relief it had been badgering him for. He took the opportunity to ditch that little item he had tucked up under his uniform shirt; he hated to lose it, but better he lost it here than have someone, anyone, find it before he had a chance to dispose of it elsewhere; anyway, he knew Meghada would find him another one just as handy and just as hard to recognize as a weapon. He wiped his mouth, took a deep breath and headed back inside. He didn't have to pretend, at least not about the being sick part; hell, the guys expected it from him, it was his normal reaction to violence and blood and stress and airplanes and submarines and a hell of a lot more. {"Funny in a way; learned to control the rest of me, even my mind, but never my stomach!"} He did tense a little when Casino headed out that back door a few minutes later, but told himself the safecracker would be so busy puking up his guts he wouldn't be thinking of anything else, and from what he was hearing, he was right.

They were so careful of him, each of his 'rough and untrustworthy and dangerous' cons; Garrison let a rueful smile cross his face when he thought of how they'd each been just a step away to give support if he faltered, but never touching him suddenly otherwise, taking care not to startle him. There was no discussion of what had transpired in that cell, but he knew they all knew, just decided it didn't need discussing, at least not then. Actor continued with his role of in-field medic, calm and matter of fact; Chief and his knife and his dark alert eyes stayed between Garrison and any possible opening for danger. Casino had hunkered down a couple of feet away to report, "got the papers we was after. Had some other stuff, there and in the desk, looked interesting so I grabbed it, thought ya might want to go over them while we're waiting," pulling the papers out of his uniform to hand them over to Garrison, those papers, their importance, distracting Garrison for awhile. Goniff, well, he was constantly at hand, helping Actor with whatever was needed, then after, first with the canteen of water and that bottle of wine, then with the pickpocket's own portion of the bread and cheese he'd managed to scrounge for them. His "aint all that 'ungry right now, Warden. You could use it better 'n me," from the perpetually hungry second-story man got a skeptical look, but a murmured "take it, Craig, you need the strength, and he needs to know he's helping," from Actor caused Garrison to accept the meager portion with a "thanks, Goniff," getting a worried but surprisingly shy smile in return.

Somehow when Garrison had been putting this team together and had been thinking about binding the unit into a team, hoping to see the interdependence and interreliance necessary to such a team; searching for signs of them coming to actually care about each other's welfare, he hadn't quite pictured it this way, them giving him that same support, caring about him and his welfare. HQ wouldn't be favorably impressed, even if they believed it, which they wouldn't, and he'd be careful of the wording on his report anyway.

Marcel, the Underground leader, now HE was impressed, not only that they had completed the mission, had managed to rescue Garrison after it had gone wrong, but also, "the Major, we are well rid of him, the pig! I do not know how you managed it, but we are grateful! A knife was too fast a way for such a one to die, but" with a gallic shrug, "better a fast death now than letting him continue on til a slower, more painful one could be arranged! We are most grateful, Lieutenant, to you and your men, for your thoroughness in this matter."

Garrison heard the details of the extremely efficient dispatching of the German Major, "from behind, right across the throat," and it was with tight lips he later demanded of his men, "alright, who went after Vaunder? That wasn't part of the plan; it could have screwed it all up!" He ranted weakly and they sat back and listened, puzzled frowns on their faces as they looked at each other.

Finally, when Garrison wore himself out, Actor broke the news, "Craig, I truly do not believe it WAS us. I know you were unconscious for part of the time, but from the moment we got you out of that cell, Chief and I were with you until you came to, and we certainly haven't left you since. Casino was getting the papers, Goniff was busy dodging German patrols til it was safe to circle back and pick him up. I really don't see how . . ."

Garrison now had his own frown, "Chief?" to get a solemn shake of the head from that dark head, "like he said, Warden, was with you and him the whole time."

"Casino?"

"Hell, Warden, spent most of the time gathering that little gift package for you, dodging Krauts, then making my way to the pickup point. Kraut patrols everywhere; Goniff came close to having one tumble to him. Didn't have time for any little side trips! Sure as hell never left after we got here!"

Garrison hesitated, then turned to their pickpocket. No, he didn't see the small man with the twitchy stomach and little to no skill in hand-to-hand violence doing anything of the sort, but he had a feeling it would be sort of insulting not to at least ask. Yes, he knew that was a rather odd thought, but well, with this group, odd was pretty much the norm. "Goniff?" and the dropped jaw, the totally appalled, absolutely incredulous look he got from the slender blond told the story, especially when accompanied by a shocked, "who? ME???" all without another word.

Actor took over smoothly, "it would appear the good Major hadn't been making many friends locally; convenient timing, of course, but coincidences DO happen, Craig," and Garrison and the others dropped the subject. They spent the hour before transport arrived dozing, and one figure, sitting with knees bent, arms wrapped around his legs, forehead braced against his knees, allowed himself a small secret smile of satisfaction, a very cold little smile. Payment had been made; he'd made himself that promise years before - payment would always be made, as long as he had breath in his body; as long as there was any way at all, payment would be made. He didn't know if he would ever tell Meghada about this, it being such a personal thing for the Warden, but he knew if he did, she'd not quarrel with his actions, she'd understand; moreover, she'd approve, he knew she would. Well, she'd done as much herself, now hadn't she? He smiled again, thinking about the 'gam caimileir'

Garrison realized it was starting to wear on him slightly, even before he became truly conscious of what was happening, the feeling of being somehow cocooned, wrapped in cotton wool perhaps; he'd thought it was his imagination, something left over from the stress of his ordeal. Still, if he so much as stumbled over the corner of a rug he had someone at his elbow making sure he didn't fall; if he made a sound, heads snapped to attention, checking to see the cause. Tokens of support, either physical or otherwise, appeared out of nowhere. A new book on military strategy showed up on his bedside table, quite good enough to keep him reading well into the night, and Actor had drawn him into a long, serious and very distracting conversation about the author and his opinions a few days later; he'd been surprised - that wasn't Actor's area of interest, or at least it never had been; Garrison had never seen him read anything of the sort though the conman was amazingly well-read, and yet the discussion proved the man had indeed read the book carefully and given it considerable thought.

He'd been sitting, head against the back of the chair, staring into the air, pretending he was contemplating a tweaking of the obstacle course and trying unsuccessfully to avoid thinking about other matters, and there was a hesitant, slightly awkward request for some practice at the chess board from Chief, who'd been studying the board and game pieces and that small book "Beginning Chess" for weeks now, but by himself, never even mentioning it to any of the others. "Think it would be easier to understand if I saw someone making the moves," came in a low, slightly shy voice, and that led to a surprisingly absorbing hour, the precurser to many more such encounters in the coming months, and even longer.

After a particularly bad night and morning, a pint of bourbon showed up on his desk right after Casino had come in to ask about when the next shipment of letters would go out so he could be sure and have his finished in time. A fast distracted reply, and the safecracker was out and gone again. "Wait at minute. What??!" He knew Casino carried out a steady correspondence with his large family, organized his whole existence around those mail shipments; the rough-talking safecracker knew precisely when each one would be going out, when one would be coming in; that wasn't something he'd have just forgotten. Garrison stopped reading that file, frowned, glanced up again, and stared at the bottle now sitting beside the telephone, obviously from the local pub, then at the closing door.

From their pickpocket, the support was in the form of one of the most important sources of pleasure, maybe comfort, to the little Englishman - food. Whether it was a tiny brightly colored tin of pastilles, a little paper bag of hard candies from the village, a napkin full of ripe blackberries from the woods, or first choice of those offerings that all of a sudden seemed to be coming every other day from the Cottage, there was food at Garrison's right hand. Even when Meghada had been called away, there was Mrs. Wilson or Sheila Riley at the gate with a basket and a smile and the explanation, "the lass asked I fill in for her while she's gone."

Then that evening came when the leftover tin of scones was brought out; there was only one left when it got to Goniff, Actor having waved it on with a smiling shake of his head. Garrison saw the Englishman gulp and swallow, look down into that tin, saw the brief struggle in those hazy blue eyes, then the resolution in that pale face as the round container with its precious cargo was deposited quickly on the small table next to Garrison, and in a voice slightly huskier than usual, heard the slender man tell him "you take it, Warden; 'ad my share earlier, I did." Well, 'having his share earlier' had never stopped their perpetually hungry pickpocket before, and as Garrison remembered, there'd only been three left last night when they put the tin away and Chief and Casino, looking at each rather guiltily, each had one in their hand now, so just how . . .

And Garrison stopped dead in his tracks, looked around at each of them as all of the pieces fell into place, and saw how they had been supporting him, doing what they could to get him through this, each in their own way. "Alright, guys," his own voice rather husky, "enough is enough. Goniff, eat the damned scone! I don't want you passing out on the obstacle course in the morning for lack of nourishment! You'll be expecting Casino to carry you, most likely, and I don't know he's in the mood to do that after you stole his lighter again."

The men all exchanged a questioning look at this, Garrison sounding so much more like the Warden they had become accustomed to, before, instead of the wounded man they'd brought home, and the young American Lieutenant shook his head at his own blindness in not catching on earlier.

"Actor, there's a bottle in my desk drawer. Can you get it? I think we all need a drink." The bottle was brought, the mismatched glasses each got their share, and Garrison lifted his glass, looking at each of them once again, and a rueful smile, an acknowledgement was in his face, his voice, "gentlemen, to you, to us, to the team!" and their voices rang in the night.

He was more than amused at the reaction when he told Goniff, "and you can tell Meghada she can stop with all the baking too, now that everything's back to normal."

The archly stern and reproving frown on the slight Englishman's face showed his absolute rejection of that idea. "Wouldn't want to do that, Warden! Baking, it relaxes 'er, it does; and with all that work she does for Major Richards and the others, well, she needs that, you know?" Garrison's suggestion that he was sure the young woman had other sources of relaxation got a surprisingly wicked and sly grin, and a response of, "well, yes, but I ain't always there, now am I?" leaving Garrison sputtering into his drink and coughing, cat calls coming from Casino and another surprising grin, this one from the usually somber Chief.

Even Actor protested Garrison's suggestion. "Surely, Craig, we cannot deny the poor girl the chance for some innocent recreation! That would be most unkind, as well as most detrimental to our menus!" as he ate the half a scone Casino had given him, just as Chief had broken off half of his for Garrison.

Another drink, then to their respective beds, leaving Garrison to once again wonder about that German Major, but ending up just shaking his head. "I've got to start getting more sleep; there was just no way it could have been one of them." He pulled back the covers, and chuckled at the sight - a tiny round tin of La Vie Pastillines tucked onto his pillow. He shook his head once more, "Goniff!! Again with the candy. If I were a girl, I'd think you were courting me!" That thought got an amused smile from the weary Lieutenant, and a feeling of warmth surrounded him, filled him, helping to drive away the remaining inner chill. That little inward spark he'd felt, that something, something he didn't have words to describe, that he just ignored.


End file.
